


The Last Durin

by RATZ



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Belladonna Théorin Baggins, Bilbo Has A Child With Thorin AU, Dwarf Gender and Customs, Dwarrodam!Kíli, Dwarrowdam!Dwalin, Dwarrowdam!Ri’s, Dwarrowdam!Óin, Dwarven Culture, Half of the Dwarves are Dwarrowdams, Hobbit Culture, Hobbit Gender and Customs, M/M, Maybe Aragorn | Estel x Original GNC Character, Meddling Hobbits, Multi, Non-traditional Mpreg, Non-traditional Pregnancy, Rewrite, This is not a fix-it, War of the Ring, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-10-07 08:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17362871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RATZ/pseuds/RATZ
Summary: The road ever goes on, no matter how bitter the tears have become, or how hurting you may be.Bilbo brought many things back to his hole under the hill.From the last of the Durin’s sons, to a trinket so evil and wicked it spoiled all that it touched.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> One thing about my take on Hobbits: They only have one single gender, and may choose what to identify as after puberty. Basically, hobbits are made to have LOTS of babies, no matter the circumstance. 
> 
> Also, half of the dwarves were dwarrowdams, it’s that Bilbo only realised this after a while. No difference in voice or appearance! Oh, Bilbo. 
> 
> This story will be partially focus on my child OC for them, Bella (later, Théorin) Baggins, and how they’d interact with the world as the Last Durin.

22th September, a day shared by two Bagginses in the form of their birthday.

The third, last Baggins was born mid June, and so, half of The Baggins of Bag End were born on the same day — Frodo and Bilbo Baggins they were. Bilbo being the eldest Baggins, with his hair turned white from age, and his many stories to tell, and Frodo, the youngest and Bilbo’s dearest nephew, with his love for books and a kind heart.

Belladonna Baggins, the third one, was Bilbo’s only child. Together, the three Bagginses lived in Bag End, under the hill, and over the water. But today no ordinary day for the Baggins family. Today was September 22th, and also Bilbo’s 111th birthday.

And that, of course, meant that a grand party was to be prepared, and half of the Shire had their hairy toes on end for the greatest 111th birthday they could muster, all thanks to old mister Bilbo, who was still very young looking for his days. Tents were raised, food was arranged, baked goods were baked, decorations were decorated. The party was a huge, gracious success.

That, until old Bilbo disappeared into thin air, in front of all the hobbits of the shire.

That was meant to be a farewell, of course. Bella and Frodo knew Bilbo was restless as long as they could remember, and yearning to see the mountains from his stories for one last time. And what a farewell it was. Frodo was left to tend unnerved party guests, and Bella took off to Bag End, intending to follow Bilbo to Rivendell and further more. It was their plan since they realised Bilbo was going to slip away, in one way or another.

Coming back to the hole under the hill, what Frodo didn’t expect to meet was a very distressed wizard, and the roots of something that felt much bigger than he could ever expect.

No, Frodo Baggins saw that things were not so done after Bilbo took off to see the elves once more. Things were changing, the world was changing. Not only for the Baggins household, but for Middle Earth itself.

He just didn’t expect his own adventure to be like this.

* * *

The city was burning. Lake town, destroyed and bleeding, laid smoking in the distance, like a beacon of light shining in the cloudless, dark night. Bilbo could only but stare at the scene unfolding, the crying echoes of men and death unfurling, consuming all in smoke, and here they stood by, having unleashed this nightmare upon thousands of innocents, now suffering from dragon fire like the dwarves once did, a long time ago.

This pain so cruel; to lose the place you call home by something so wicked as the burning flames of a dragon. They knew the feeling, the dwarves who stood by his side, and yet, they could not do anything. Not when they were to blame, and not when they were so far now from the chaos unfurled. Bilbo’s stomach churned almost violently, and tears clouded his eyes. Death lingered heavy in the air, thick and very difficult to breathe. Silence consumed all along with it, deafening, plaguing each dwarf and the hobbit with its unspoken fear.

But one dwarf was missing.

Bilbo did not yet notice Thorin wandering to the mountain’s entrance, a strange, yearning look in his eyes. He could only mourn the loss of innocent lives at the distance, silent as the wind. But it was windless, except for the unnatural waves of air from the dragon’s wings. The battle and flames seemed to linger on through the night, burning brighter and brighter, until something changed, and the cursed cry of the beast was heard — it’s massive body ascended into the night’s sky, to be bathed in moonlight for one last time and lose its fire, descending without any life or light left.

It landed into the dark waters below and onto the few remaining buildings, completely destroying the remnants of the town and along with it, becoming the great Smaug’s grave. Nothing but fire and smoke were left, and so it ended the fire drake’s reign of terror. Bilbo gasped, and the others, stunned, started celebrating.

Smaug... Was dead.

Though from his demise, the men of lake-town suffered the same tragic tale as the dwarves of Erebor, and Bilbo felt no cheer to celebrate when the damage, in the end, was too great. He wiped a few stray tears, and his eyes found themselves automatically searching for Thorin.

Who was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s... Oh goodness,” Bilbo but muttered to himself, finding the dwarf walking alone to the entrance. He dashed to Thorin, and found the dwarf in some sort of trance, as if something inside called for him.

“Thorin... Oh, Thorin, are you alright?” Asked the hobbit, sweat cold at his brow. The dwarf turned to look at him, and the strangeness in his eyes seemed to fade, melting to a familiar, warm gaze.

“Bilbo...” He pressed a hand to Bilbo’s cheek, “What is it...?”

“Smaug,” Bilbo perked up, unable to contain his tears — Tears of sorrow, of fear, he did not know. Thorin’s gaze made him want to shed them harder.

“Smaug is dead, Thorin...”

For a moment, something seemed to clear Thorin’s mind, but it was just a moment. The strange fog returned as his smile spread.

“If he’s dead, then why do you cry, ghivashel?”

“The people, Thorin... They lost everything,” Thorin’s thumb wiped at his tears as he spoke, “Oh Yavanna, what have we done, Thorin...”

“We did not do anything, it was the cursed dragon and the dragon alone,” Thorin murmured to him, fierce in his tone, “Do not shed tears for something you couldn’t help, Bilbo. We have our mountain, our home. We have each other.”

“Thorin...” Bilbo gasped, and had his lips met with the dwarf’s. It was a brief, yet moving kiss, and they stood there, Thorin stroking his cheeks ever so gently.

He wanted to ask Thorin how could he ignore the people — The people that suffered the same fate as his own, but the strange fog was all but Bilbo’s answer.

A fog so jealous and possessive, wicked as Smaug’s very fire. 

He did not like where this was heading, not at all. Not when Thorin’s behaviour started to change and become something... Ugly. Something that would only get worse over the days to come.


	2. Into the Rain

It was when they heard it; Riders dressed all in black, asking for _Shire_ and _Baggins_ , that Bella knew something was very, _very_ wrong. They heeled back to their previous track, and amongst the darkened forest, found no one other than Meriadoc, Peregrin, Samwise and Frodo being chased by exactly what they feared.

It was more of a wild chase than anything else, and Bella only seemed to come to their senses when the ferry reached its destination, and the five hobbits made their way to Bree, heavy rain pouring over the land and onto them.

“Frodo, I’m going to ask a lot of questions,” Bella made sure to speak face to face to their brother, “But for now, I’m just seriously glad you’re safe. Those black riders... They’ve been chasing you.”

“It’s... Complicated, Bell,” Frodo hugged himself closer, shuddering at the unforgiving rain, “But we need to go to Bree and talk to Gandalf. I can’t truly say what’s going ‘til we reach there.”

“It doesn’t matter, Frodo, we are accompanying you,” Merry assured him, “Those black riders were nothing but trouble. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What’s truly going on, then?” Pippin perked up, worry tainting their usual smile, “Frodo, that was scary! It ain’t something right.”

“Calm down, all of you,” Sam chimed in, “Mister Frodo cannot explain everything ‘til we reach Bree. That’s the deal.”

“Whatever it is, Fro, I don’t like it,” Bella pressed on, scowling, “Why would they be chasing our family? We are just hobbits! There’s nothing they can be chasing us for!”

“Nasty business,” Frodo could only sigh, a unpleasant shiver running down his spine, “Please... All of you — I know it’s tough to handle this, but I really need to reach Bree first and explain everything later. I promised Gandalf.”

“Of course Gandalf’s involved,” Merry hummed in thought, “Wizards.”

“I thought you liked him,” Pippin said, sounding a bit hurt. 

“I do! But it’s no surprise he’s involved in this.”

“Alright, Gandalf’s involved,” Bella hummed to themselves, “Oh Fro, he sure will need to explain a handful to us.”

* * *

 

In the great kitchen halls of Erebor, there stood a hobbit, feeling specially small, even smaller than he’d felt back in Lake-Town or Mirkwood. The halls were empty, dusty and murmuring of nothing but death. But at the quiet place he found in the kitchen, just by the candle light and the hearth, he’d prepare a small meal on a tray. Nothing too much, as their food rations were dwindling already. A small loaf of bread with blueberry jam, and a piece of dried beef jerky was all he could fashion. 

Finishing settling the food in, he nodded to himself and walked away from the empty halls to even more of them, until he reached the throes of the sea of gold that was the treasury, even grander and darker. Amongst the sea, there stood Thorin, revelling at the shining lights that emitted from the cast coins. He looked sick as he’d been for the past few days, his eyes sunken and his skin pale as silver.

Bilbo could only but sigh, trying to find some stable ground to walk to his lover.

“Thorin...” His voice seemed to echo through and through, but it never sounded dark and... Sick as Thorin’s. The said dwarf slowly looked at him, but there were no soft smiles or a warm gaze.

It was just the usual lost gaze in the haze of his mind.

“Thorin, I brought you food,” Bilbo didn’t want to sound so meek, but he couldn’t help but cower at Thorin’s sick stare. The dwarf’s hands, covered in rings, twitched. 

“Here,” The hobbit handed the tray to the dwarf, “Please, Thorin... Eat.”

Thorin’s eyes trailed from the food to Bilbo. The hobbit tried really hard to understand what emotion went through Thorin’s fogged eyes, but it seemed not even Thorin himself knew what was happening. For lingering seconds, he’d look almost completely lost, then, the sickness would take back what few clarity he’d shown.

He pushed the tray again at Thorin’s idle hands, silently begging.

“Thorin...”

“Always so kind, my ghivashel,” Thorin muttered mostly to himself, “But I do not wish to be interrupted from my duty as king. This is but a servants job, and you are no servant...”

“Thorin, you need to eat. You haven’t touched the last tray I brought to you...” Bilbo reasoned, “You can’t do your kingly duties without forgetting to live as a living being. Please, Thorin...”

“No, I cannot...” Thorin admitted, his gaze focusing on Bilbo for a brief second, “But you... You deserve much more than to serve me.”

That made Bilbo’s ears flush red. 

“Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo stammered, blushing, “I am just trying to help you.”

“I could not ask for better company,” Thorin smiled, “You truly care for me, and you’re as loyal as a lionheart. I’ve told you many times how that only makes me fall deeper in love with you.”

Gasping, Bilbo was left speechless, and leaned onto Thorin’s hand when the dwarf cupped his cheek.

“Thorin...”

“I wish to court you properly, now that I am truly king,” It was too sudden. Bilbo gasped for air again, shellshocked.

“You...” The hobbit spoke, incredulous, “Weren’t we already...?”

“ _Properly_ , ghivashel,” Reassured the dwarf, his fingers now feeling hard upon his face, and his eyes turned back to their foggy state, “I wish to shower you with mithril and gold — to braid silver onto your locks. Yes, this is what you deserve. For the one who is most loyal to me, to whom I love and cherish... My ghivashel.”

Shivers ran down Bilbo’s spine. The weight of the Arkenstone seemed to sink upon him, and he but trembled under Thorin’s grip.

“Please, Thorin, you can do that but...” 

With that, Thorin left him, going back to wander the treasury. “I must find the perfect gifts for you... Leave me for now.” 

He couldn’t reason with Thorin like this. 

The tray was left untouched once more. And that night, Bilbo’s stomach churned so badly he ended up spilling his dinner out, holding back bitter tears as he felt trapped, and lost beyond salvation.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belladonna goes by they/them pronouns, so does Pippin.


	3. Disappear

Bilbo did not know if the day had already set, or just begun. Inside the mountain, time seemed to pass by in mysterious ways — Mainly because they were shut off from any form of sunlight and barely went to the ramparts anymore. It was all dark corridors and vast, empty halls, all in Bilbo’s eyes forever cursed to be haunted. The dragon’s presence still somewhat lingered, as if it was a snake hiding in the shadows, with the stench of sickness and death prevalent, no matter how many times they tried cleaning the few rooms they used.

The dragon had cursed Erebor. And Thorin was falling ill because of it.

The king’s quarters had been cleaned as thoroughly as he and the dwarves could manage, and that night, Thorin came to him for the first time since they reached the inside of the mountain, carrying jewels in his hands, and the acursed fog never to leave his mind. 

 “I’d like you to wear these, my love,” No matter how sweet his words were, Thorin sounded distant — As if he was barely himself. Bilbo looked at the said jewels, glistening in Thorin’s contrasting grip, so delicate compared to his roughened hands. A diadem, woven in silver and a few specs of gold and diamond, was handed to him.

 Yet he refused to take it.

“Thorin... I thank you but, this isn’t for me,” Bilbo said, and dared not to look at Thorin’s intense, staring eyes. 

“But it is,” Insisted the dwarf, sounding slightly moved, “You are my one. This is to be braided onto your beautiful locks, silver amongst copper... The treasure of all my treasures, Bilbo Baggins.” 

It was hard not to accept things when Thorin sweet-talked him so easily.

He eventually let the dwarf decorate him, and he looked really out of place in the end, without his clothes on and covered in jewels. Thorin showered him with all kinds of treasure, always reminding him he was the fairest.

Bilbo knew he wasn’t the Arkenstone, but he felt as if he were it that night, as they made love. 

The rooms never felt so cold, but Thorin was still warm, though his nightmares told him that one day, he’d touch the dwarf and just feel the coldness of gold.

* * *

“Alright, Gandalf’s definitely is missing,” Bella’s sigh was loud, but not louder than the Prancing Pony’s inner quarters. Men looked intimidating when it came to them, and the atmosphere was nothing but hostile towards the hobbits. Bella did not like it, that was for sure.

“And we have this feller eyeing us right in that corner,” Grumbled Samwise, tugging Frodo closer to him. The hobbit shrugged, eyes cast down.

“If he so dares come to us, I’m gonna punch him in the shin,” Bella growled, staring down at the mysterious man, “I swear, or I’m not a —“ 

“ _Baggins_? I know a Baggins! There,” Pippin’s squeaky voice was loud enough to be heard in the cacophony of the inn, and the young hobbit waved at them, smiling, “Bella and Frodo Baggins! He’s my cousin and they’re —“

“Pippin!” Gasped both Bella and Frodo, and Samwise immediately sat up, as if he were a living shield for Frodo. 

The eyes at them seemed to grow even more hostile, and longshanks sat up too. Whatever happened next, no one expected it.  

Frodo fell, and disappeared into thin air.

 “ _Frodo_?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter may be small or long, depending on my writing. But they will be frequent.


	4. Meet Strider

“Let him go, longshanks!” Cried Samwise, branding his fists at the man in front of them. Bella growled along, using a chair as their makeshift weapon, along with Pippin and Merry.

Their introduction to Strider, needless to say, got all their hairy toes on end. The man only let them ask away questions after they were escorted to another room, in another building. The cries of the black riders could be heard from the distance, echoing in the dark of the night like the very warning of death. Frodo could no longer rest, and as he laid on the bed Strider provided to them, the questions demanded by Bella started to pour in, along with his own to the man.

“What... _Are_ they?”

He could only see the dark figure of the man from the corner, with his pipe on.

“They were once men. Great kings of men — then Sauron the deceiver gave them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, and one by one, to fall into darkness. They are slaves to his will... They are the _Nazgûl_ — Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead.

At all times they feel the presence of the ring, drawn to the power of the one. They will never stop hunting you.”

“Ring? _What_ ring?” Bella spoke up, hugging themselves closer, “Frodo...?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you yet,” Frodo lamented, weariness heavy in his voice, “Remember how Bilbo disappeared at the party? The trinket he found at the misty mountains? That’s the ring. It’s... It’s very evil. Bilbo had no idea how much so.”

“Pa had this ring for years...” The half-Hobbit mused, “But, where are we taking it? What is that thing, exactly?”

“It is the One ring of power, and it’s only owner is Sauron. Your brother is right,” The man said, “It is a great source of evil. And he is the ring bearer for now, until we reach Rivendell.”

“Rivendell?” Exclaimed Samwise.

“We’re going to see the elves?” Pippin said, aghast.

“We need to get it to safety,” Said Strider, “Rivendell is the safest place yet for it. Frodo must come with me.”

“Hold on, we barely know who you are!” Sam pulled Frodo closer to him, “We are not following you anywhere until Gandalf is here.”

“You heard it, he’s been gone for six months, and you five are being hunted,” The man looked at the window as his tone darkened, “There is no time to waste. The wizard will not come, and the wraiths draw near.”

“How can we trust you?” Insisted the hobbit, adamant of strider’s words.

Strider started at them with a hardened gaze, “You will need to. You cannot stay in Bree no further.”

“Oh, good green gardens,” Sighed Bella, holding their messy curls in a tight grip, “At least Pa is at Rivendell... He’ll kill us if he knows the danger we are in, Frodo! Rings of power, Sauron, the black riders — this is _madness_!”

“There is no time to waste nor lament, little one,” The man sat up, “Sleep for now, all of you. Tomorrow at dawn we’ll be off the road. We shall take the path of the wilderness, so try to get some rest.”

The hobbits all but gulped down in fear.


	5. Shireling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if people even like this fic cause there is no comments yet but I am having a great time writing this almost everyday <3 Also, Belladonna may be a feminine name in our world, but hobbits don’t care about that. Bella is more masculine presenting than feminine, and they still use they/them pronouns because screw gender right

 

“Welcome, my sister-sons, to the great kingdom of Erebor,” Thorin’s voice echoed in a way so sinister it sent shivers down Bilbo’s spine. The halls seemed to murmur back, all telling him of a dwarf’s mad love of gold and the dragon fire that consumed all. The mountain was sick to its core — there was no escaping once you entered, and Bilbo pleaded for the remaining Durin son’s to not go in.

But here they were, watching what their uncle had become over the days. Bilbo felt ill.

Erebor itself was a ruin that could barely be called a kingdom, as almost nothing was left untouched by time and decay — the great halls felt haunted, and nothing had the familiar feel of home Bilbo was so used to. Home was warmth, and Erebor was nothing but _cold_. The frigid ghost of a once great dwarven kingdom, its beauty a splendour that laid cursed in sickness.

Thorin had been consumed by it all, his madness growing each day, and the temptation of the Arkenstone grew fiercer, making the dwarf Bilbo loved turn into something wicked. No more was Thorin the loyal and noble dwarf from Bag-End, but a king lost in his own world. A king that longed for nothing more than a shiny trinket.

The said trinket laid uncomfortably in Bilbo’s coat pocket, as it weighed of all the treachery it had done over the years for the Durin folk. It didn’t feel right for it to be sitting next to the acorn he’d found in Beorn’s garden.

Not when the seedling meant growth and life and the rock nothing but malice. 

The rest of the dwarves retreated back to the inner quarters once everyone was finally settled in, but even in a moment that was meant for ease, Bilbo could not rest. He needed _out_ — the stale air of the mountain was almost intoxicating, making him feel ill all day long. He headed towards the gate, bypassing the curious dwarves and to the frigid air of the night, and took a deep breath.

Around him, things were starting to grow, somewhat. No more the desolation of Smaug seemed so void of hope, because the ravens and birds of the mountain had returned, and along with them, Yavanna’s blessings. But everything was still cold and empty, for winter had come. The remaining flora remained dormant, and the clouds gathered in the night’s sky, ready to lay its snow on the land.

It was better than the cursed halls of Erebor, that he was sure of it. Beyond the desolation, the Esgaroth lake and the skeleton of lake-town were nothing but covered in fog, and closer to the rocky hills, Dale stood with lights coming from its ruins, where the remaining men took shelter. Bilbo’s heart ached for them — Thorin’s word shouldn’t mean nothing but lies. It was so wrong to see them suffer the early winter’s wrath with nothing but scavenged goods.

But staying in the mountain doing nothing, and only watching their pain unfurl was worse than anything Bilbo had ever done. He hugged himself closer, tears clinging to his eyelashes.

He knew the worst was yet to arrive. It was like the wind itself told him so, as if the very ancient earth knew what would come. The gathering storm — in which Bilbo feared would wash these lands with more conflict than ever. Not even the outside air felt uncorrupted.

The stone in his pocket seemed to mock him, always cold against his grip. But then, he thought of a plan. He had a claim of the fourteenth share, after all.

* * *

 

Strider always looked at them odd. They had just crossed the wet lands, making all their trousers sticky and slimy to the touch, and now, the six set camp next to the driest patch of soil they’d find the day before. Never did he ask questions, but Bella knew the man had some for them, just by the way he looked at them over the days. Maybe it was because they were the tallest and bulkiest of the hobbits, or how they’d always shave the stubble that came back to pester their face. No gentle hobbit would ever grow hair on their cheeks, after all.

That was just their dwarven lineage showing.

It was no secret in the Shire that Bella was half dwarf. What got the folks back then truly upset was the lack of a helping hand of their sire, as it was deemed very rude not to help your partner raise their faunt. Bilbo had over twenty very concerned mothers showing up at his doorstep when the news he carried young spread over the hills, completely putting away their odds against the hobbit just for the sake of the little one. Not only that, but everyone changed their stance on Bilbo after they found he was going to bear a faunt alone. 

Even the Sackville-Baggins helped poor Master Baggins out. Hobbits truly cared for their children, as all of them could carry, no matter the circumstance. Even if they’re out of wedlock, a faunt is a faunt. It would be considered very not respectable to not to help a pregnant hobbit out, and so, even a child of a dwarf found themselves comfortable in the green hills of Hobbiton, and Bilbo’s reputation as the brave yet poor (Oh, how could the sire leave him! Poor Mr. Bilbo!) mother of a sireless faunt was spread.

It could’ve been worse, but here they were. Bella was a child of Yavanna, no matter their sire. But for Strider, it seemed, a half-dwarf hobbit born out of wedlock was something _odd_. Odd enough that the ranger found himself wanting to ask questions.

“Look, longshanks, I don’t bite! I know you have your questions,” Giggled the half-hobbit shireling, amused at the way the ranger blushed almost abruptly, “I do look more like a dwarf, I know. Even if I shave the beard out, I am quite different than my friends.”

Their ears were rounder, less pointed, and their feet were not as big and hairy as the others. No hobbit had such sharp jawline and broad shoulders as Bella, too. But still, the gentleness of Bilbo’s few features gave them a hobbit look.

Bella’s main feature were their strong nose and set of icy blue eyes. There was something ever so noble about them, even if they shared the same blue eyes with their brother. Frodo’s was soft as a does, but Bella brought out a sense of an ancient line of warriors, hardened by war and driven by honour and glory.

Strider definitely had his questions.

“You’re half dwarf, little one?” He asked quite obliviously, making the shireling laugh.

“Yes, as much as I can be. Though I have never met my sire, and my mother does not speak of them. Maybe they’re out there somewhere, smithing,” Bella told the ranger, “What only mattered for me in my sixty years is my dearest mother.”

“How old are the others?” Strider found himself asking.

“Frodo’s the oldest besides me, lad just turned thirty three! And the youngest is Pippin, who’s twenty eight,” Said Bella, “I guess I can say I’m thirty in their eyes, for my mother told me a dwarf’s coming of age is around eighty years old.”

The man seemed really interested, gawking at them with a smile, “You and I have at least something in common, uh.”

“What is it, may I ask?” Asked the hobbit.

“In men’s age, I look around thirty. But my age is greater than that.”

“Are _you_ half dwarf too?” Bella found themselves asking.

The ranger laughed, “Oh no, little one. It is but the blood of my family, who ages quite slowly.”

“I know next to nothing about men,” Bella told Strider, humming, “Big people are quite mysterious for us, small people. You’re the first I ever met properly, except for...”

“The wizard?” Strider found himself completing the smaller being’s sentence. Bella nodded, looking slightly sad.

“I wonder where he is... We shouldn’t have... Trusted you, yet here we are,” Bella couldn’t help but be honest with the man, “It’s not everyday stuff like this happens to little folk like me and them. My goodness, this is such a journey! Such dangerous journey, too! Pippin isn’t even of age yet...”

“There is no time to worry, Master hobbit,” Strider assured them, “Rivendell is near. You have to trust your brave little heart for now.”

Bella smiled, a blush covering their cheeks. “Thank you, Strider. I’m sorry for being so... Defensive. I just worry for them.”

“As you should, little one,” Strider said, “Worry for the ones you love, not for what will come tomorrow.”

With that, the ranger took his leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda ship Aragorn with Bilbo’s kid. Two hidden bois of some very important ancient kingdom founded by this very important ancient dude. Both have no idea what to do with how big of a deal their lineage is. They also like dirt and being the groups dad figures so oof


	6. The Clouds Burst

“What are you doing?!” Bella cried along with Frodo, watching the three remaining hobbits eat a meal around the lit fire.

“Eating?” Pippin said, shoving two more sausages in their mouth. Merry and Sam shrugged their shoulders.

“There’s a fire?!” Exclaimed the eldest Baggins, standing up with their brother and heading to the group.

“Taters, sausages, some nice crispy bacon,” Merry added, and Samwise chimed in, “We saved some for the both of you, Mr. Frodo —“

“Put it out, you fools!” Frodo started stomping the fire down, “Strider told us to not light anything up here! The black riders will know —”

Suddenly, the silence of the night was pierced by a loud, familiar shrill. Frodo’s blood ran cold, and the other hobbits gasped.

In the fog, down in the trees and from the marshes, the rider’s figures appeared as if they were made out of smoke. Bella drew their sword, urging the others to do the same.

“ _Go_!” Cried Frodo, and so the hobbits climbed to the fortress.

The ruin was covered in a unnatural fog, as if it’s ancient ghosts were now hostile towards them. Frodo and the hobbits ended up hurled together in a circle, right in the middle of the watchtower — Bella was in the front for them, shielding their friends with their thick arms.

Because from the distance, the shadows of the dreaded black riders had them surrounded.

“Back off, you devils!” Samwise cried at them, fronting along with Bella. Merry and Pippin also took part to be Frodo’s shield, extending their swords at the riders.

The nearest rider swung his great sword, clashing at Sam’s with a metallic clang. It made the hobbit fall to his knees with its raw strength.

“Sam!” Bella charged the rider with a might shout, managing to hit a few swings until another rider grabbed them from behind, making them protest with a cry. Merry and Pippin tried helping their friend, but it was too late — Bella had been thrown away from battle to land near one of the many pillars around them. They now faced the riders alone, for Sam and Bella were no more at their front. 

But they couldn’t hold the battle more than Bella and Sam did, crying in fear when both were tossed away from the fight. The only hobbit left was Frodo.

Bella barely returned to their senses when they heard it — Frodo’s scream of pure agony, and there he laid, bleeding on the stone ground, for he was stabbed by one of the foul creatures.

“Frodo!” The half-hobbit cries echoed around the great pillars, “ _No_!”

“Frodo!” Samwise’s own cry was followed along.

Out from the shadows, Strider came at the creatures, swinging a torch at them, and fighting them on his own.

Bella crawled as fast as they could to their brother in the midst of battle, finding Frodo shaking in pain, his eyes desperate at his sibling’s.

“Oh gods, Oh no, _Frodo_!” Sobbed Bella, cradling their brother closer. Samwise appeared next to them, his eyes already shedding tears.

“Oh, Sam...” Frodo whispered, and then looked at Bella, “Bell...”

The battle was over as quick as it began, as Strider managed to warn off the creatures with fire, and he took no time to head immediately to Frodo, where the hobbit laid with his friends.

“Strider!” Cried Sam, “Help Him, Strider!”

Strider took a look at the dagger that stabbed Frodo, and sighed in defeat. The said blade crumbled to ashes on his grip.

“He’s been stabbed by a _Morgûl_ Blade.”

“What?” Bella asked, hugging their brother, “Strider, what does that mean?”

“It means he needs elvish medicine,” The man said, “This is beyond my skill to heal.”

“We head to Rivendell,” With that, Strider took Frodo to his arms, carrying him to the lands below. The hobbits followed along, sick worried for their friend.

* * *

 

“You...” 

Bilbo couldn’t help but close his eyes, hurt by the sheer emotional pain coming from Thorin’s voice.

“You’d... _Steal_ from me?”

“N-not steal,” He tried keeping with voice even, but Bilbo knew he sounded very small, “I took it as my fourteenth share.”

“My own _one_... Bilbo...” Thorin had never sounded so heartbroken, “No... It cannot be...”

“Thorin...” Bilbo tried approaching the dwarf, but it was too late — the broken sadness in Thorin’s eyes had quickly morphed into ire as the madness took claim of him once more.

“I, I took it as my claim,” Bilbo pressed on, now backing away from the dwarf.

“Your claim...” Thorin’s words were poison, “You have no claim on me, you miserable little _rat_!”

“I was going to give it to you!” Pleased the hobbit, sounding broken himself, “Many times I wanted to, Thorin, but...”

“But what, thief?” Thorin’s words cut him deep as a blade. Bilbo shuddered, not able to hold back tears.

“But you are changed, Thorin!” Bilbo exclaimed, as hard as he could, “The dwarf I’ve met in Bag End would’ve never gone back on his word. Would have never doubted the loyalty of his kin!”

“Do not speak to me of _loyalty_...” Thorin’s words were never so filled with hatred, and the dwarf, mad with grief, cried at his company, “... Throw him from the ramparts!”

Bilbo’s blood ran cold.

“Thorin...” He gasped, unconsciously holding his stomach, and the others also gasped to themselves. The king looked around the company, expecting his order to be followed, yet no one moved, all too stunned by Thorin’s unnatural violence.

“Didn’t you hear me?! I said throw him out!” He grabbed the closest to him — Fíli, but the young dwarf objected, not allowing his uncle to pull him to Bilbo. Said hobbit couldn’t move, even if he tried. 

Thorin... Thorin wanted him _dead_.

The dwarf scoffed at the others, maddened eyes searching almost desperately for the loyalty he so needed. None moved.

“Fine! I’ll do it myself!” With that, Thorin grabbed Bilbo, who squealed in shock, and dragged the shaking hobbit to the rampart’s edge, while some of the dwarves tried stopping him.

“Thorin, stop!” Cried his nephews, along with the others.

“ _Thorin_!”

Bilbo’s back collided with the rocks quite painfully, but before he could be pushed, Gandalf’s voice echoed from below. He barely paid attention to it, because his gaze was fixed on his previous lover, who he barely recognised. 

Thorin had never looked so unlike himself.

“You’re not making a very splendid figure as king under the mountain, Thorin, son of Thráin.”

While in Thorin’s grip, Bilbo could only moan in terror, gasping at the brute force that pinned him to the surface. He could feel unshed tears streaming down his cheeks, without his notice.

Thorin, Thorin couldn’t...

He gasped wetly when he felt Thorin’s grip on him falter, and gathered himself shaking, with the aid of Bofur. He couldn’t stop shaking, not even when he descended to where Gandalf waited for him.

“Curse you, Shire rat!”

Thorin would rather have him dead. 

The madness took him away — no matter what Bilbo did.

Madness stole Thorin from him. 


	7. Arwen

“Look Frodo, it’s Mr. Bilbo’s trolls...” Samwise’s voice was gentle as his caressing hands, taking care of Frodo in his arms. By the torch fire, three troll statues laid frozen in time, surrounding them in the forest. The hobbits were all reunited at the center, where Frodo laid, injured. Meanwhile, Strider seemed to search for something in the bushes, and they could only but wait anxiously.

Frodo’s moans of pain were the only noise in the dark of the night, along with his sibling’s sobs. Bella had not stopped crying since they found Frodo, bleeding.

“Oh Frodo,” Sighed Sam, touching Frodo’s sweaty brow, “Mr. Frodo? Strider, he’s going cold!”

Bella sobbed, desolated.

“Is he going to —” Pippin’s question was interrupted by a snarl.

“Don’t say it! He’s not... Oh gods, he can’t,” Bella clutched at their sibling. Samwise seemed to bite back his own tears in response.

“He’s passing into the shadow world,” The man answered, “He’ll soon become a wraith like them.”

All hobbits gasped in shock, but before they could react any further, a distant noise was heard in the distance — The wraiths.

“—They’re close,” Merry said, darkly.

“Sam,” Strider quickly approached the hobbit, “Do you know the Athelas plant?”

“Athelas?”

“Kingsfoil,” Strider corrected himself.

“Aye, that’s a weed,” The gardener sounded confused, “Why?”

“It may help slow the poisoning,” The man said, “Hurry!”

With that, Sam and Strider disappeared into the woods, leaving Merry, Pippin, Frodo and Bella behind. Frodo seemed to only get worse at each passing moment, and Bella tried comforting their sibling in the way Sam was doing before; stroking his hair and holding his hand.

“It’s gonna be alright, Fro, I swear,” Bella sobbed quietly, “Oh gods, please help him...!”

When the bushes near them started rattling again, Bella expected Strider to appear, only an elf — it had to be, because they were beautiful as starlight, and graceful as the gentle river, approached them, calling Frodo back to the light.

The elf took Frodo in their arms, caressing their brother’s pale brow with long, white fingers.

“He’s fading,” They told Strider, who also kneeled next to the injured hobbit.

“He’s not going to last, I must take him to my father.”

They end up speaking in elvish to each other, and Bella understood no more. The elf took action and carried Frodo to their horse, but before they could leave, the half-hobbit raced to the pair.

“I will not leave Frodo!”

“He’s dying, he needs assistance in Rivendell, as quickly as possible,” Strider told Bella, sympathy shining in his eyes. 

“I belong with my brother...!” Bella’s words sounded pained.

“I know, little one. But you have to trust her,” Said The man.

“I...” Bella held back a sob, “Frodo...”

“I will ride safely with him,” The elf told them, “Trust me. I shall take him to safety.”

Leaving them, Arwen Undomiél rode to Rivendell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t write Thorin’s death here cause it needs its own chapter. Arwen is more of Aragorn’s sis here.


	8. A path of Sorrow

“ _Bilbo_...!”

He found Thorin laying on the ice, bleeding heavily from his wounds. Bilbo couldn’t help but gasp.

“ _Shhh_ , Thorin,” The hobbit was instantly kneeling beside the dwarf, shaking hands peaking at the mess that was under Thorin’s armour. The wound was the nastiest he’d ever seen — there was so much blood his hands were immediately painted red. Bilbo gagged, shock already clouding his senses.

“Oh, _amralimê_ ,” Thorin gasped at the hobbit, “You’re alive...”

“It’s going to be alright, _shhh_ ,” Bilbo almost couldn’t word his thoughts, his tongue feeling foreign in his mouth. Chills so cold, ones that brought along pure anxiety and fear, were taking hold of him — at the sight of the one he loved like this, at the threat he’d not, he _wouldn’t_...

“I wish to part with an apology,” Thorin’s words were sluggish, yet full of sorrow, “I’m so, so sorry... I was too blind to see...!”

“You were sick, dear, there’s nothing to apologise for,” Bilbo said firmly, “It’s okay now, you’re not going anywhere.”

The firmness in his voice was the only thing that kept him from breaking.

“Forgive me...!” Thorin’s shaking voice hurt more than any wound, “I let the sickness take hold of me, and you were right... You did what a true friend, a true _one_ would do...”

“Thorin, Please,” Bilbo silently begged, tears of frustration starting to cloud his vision, “You’re not going anywhere!”

He put more pressure on the wound, but Thorin’s paleness showed it was all in vain. Too much blood had been lost.

“Please... Don’t do this to me! Thorin,” His words hurt to even speak, “Don’t you _dare_!”

“You’ve... Given me so much in such a short time,” Thorin continued, his tearful eyes never leaving Bilbo’s, “You’ve shown me love, loyalty and specially, home... I own you everything, and I love you, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Please,” Bilbo desperately clutched at the dwarf, “Thorin, I love you too, but please...”

The dwarf’s gaze started turning distant, and his breath was ragged in each sentence. Yet, he smiled at Bilbo. 

“Go back to your books, and your armchair, my love... Plant your trees, watch them grow,” Thorin weakly stroked at his cheek, wiping the tears away ever so gently, “If... If more people valued home above gold, the world... Would be a merrier place. You are the difference in it...Bilbo.”

The stroking decreased, slowing and slowing, until it stopped.

Bilbo felt Thorin’s rough palm going slack on his face. His eyes, so full of love and shedding tears, became unfocused.

“ _No_ ,” Bilbo put even more pressure at the wound, shaking his head almost feebly, “No, hold on, dear...! Thorin, _Please_...”

There was no warmth left in his body. No sign of life.

“ _Thorin_!” He begged, his voice too loud for his own ears. Thorin did not move, nor did he answer. He was still, and so very cold.

“Thorin...! Thorin,” Bilbo pulled his head back, suddenly aware at the sky around them. It was clear, clearer than he’d remember. In it, the eagles soared through the heavens, along with the warm sunlight, casting through the land and chasing the shadows away.

“The _eagles_...!” Bilbo sobbed, pointing at them, “Look, Thorin! The eagles are here...! The eagles — Thorin...?”

The battle was over. The realisation dawned upon him almost violently.

“ _Thorin_...!”

Thorin was dead. 

Thorin...

“Oh _gods_...!”

* * *

 

He’d been expecting news from Frodo, but not this.

Never _this_.

As his nephew laid on the elvish bed, unconscious but with his life no longer at risk, Bilbo could only but cry. Cry and ask himself what happened, what did go _wrong_ , until Lord Elrond told him everything he needed to know.

He has had pushed a burden beyond measure to his dearest nephew. A burden that was his, one he found and carried for all these years, passed onto Frodo.

When would sorrow and regret stop consuming him?

His child, one who’d call Frodo their brother, arrived at Rivendell with the ranger and the other hobbits, demanding to see Frodo at all costs. It all but snowballed down onto Bilbo that Frodo’s journey had been much more complex than a walk to Bree, and how could he forgive himself now that he let this happen to him? Happen to his two children?

“Papa...” A shy voice called him from his train of thoughts, belonging to his child. Bella stood at the entrance of the room, their eyes blurred with unshed tears.

“Dearest,” Said Bilbo, sniffing when his own tears started to shed. With no time Bella was in his arms, hugging him.

“I-I couldn’t protect him, pa! I couldn’t! Those things... Those things stabbed him and,” They turned to Frodo, and gasped wetly. “Oh, _Frodo_... Is he going to be okay?”

“Lord Elrond told me yes, sweetling,” He didn’t want to mention that Frodo might never be the same. It hurt too much to even have it as a thought. “He’s resting now. Oh goodness, I’m so glad you are also alright...” Bilbo stroked Bella’s fluffy hair, gently easing the strands down with his fingers. The other hobbit sniffed, hugging their parent closer.

 _Snowballed_ was an appropriate word to what has had happened over the days. Bilbo would never guess his trinket would be the culprit. All these years, kept safely away. Somewhere inside him, he longed to see it again, touch it one last time, have it to —

Bella’s sad eyes instantly brought the picture of their other father to Bilbo’s mind, of Thorin’s madness consuming his mind and thoughts, over nothing but an object, something so insignificant and responsible for so much pain. He involuntarily gasped, suddenly very aware of his sickened mind and of the threat of Bella following their fathers steps.

That ring was nothing but trouble. Trouble he’d bestowed upon Frodo. A curse to repeat itself, no matter how hard he had tried to avoid this.

“ _Bella_...” Bilbo whimpered, tears clouding his eyes yet again, “I have put this burden onto Frodo. Onto _you_. All these years... I never thought...”

He’d never thought something so evil was under their very rug. Something that already affected them, hurt them. It was his responsibility to deal with this. If only he was younger... So many years, wasted.

“Don’t blame yourself, papa, you didn’t know,” Bella insisted, “I’m sure if you were younger you’d take this matter into your own hands, but please, its over now. We can go home!”

Go home. Home was where his children were, after all. Not with the elves, not over the mountains.

He was a fool.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bilbo’s voice was ever so gentle, “We’ll see what Lord Elrond has to say, and when Frodo wakes, we’ll go back. I’m... I’m so sorry for disappearing like that.”

“Oh, papa, we knew you’d leave, one day or another,” Bella hummed, “You longed for another adventure for quite some time now. I planned to follow you... To the mountains.”

Bilbo never hid they were part dwarf from them. But who’s dwarf was their sire, he had had no courage to tell. Not when the weight of the crown of Durin could lie heavily upon them. Not when he did not know what could happen to a... bastard, the actual _heir_ of the king, what could happen to his child. It could mean anything. He did not know Dáin, he did not know anything about the dwarves that were in the mountain. All he knew was that he needed to protect the only piece of Thorin he had left.

And that was Bella.

Whatever would happen now, it did not matter anymore. They would go back to the Shire, and heal. For too much has had already happened.

Frodo getting hurt was a consequence beyond thought. 


	9. Many Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see how Bella looks on my blog! https://ratpancake.tumblr.com/post/182075528229/bilbo-and-thorins-child-belladonna-theorin

He knew things wouldn’t be so done and over, not easily so, deep in his heart.

For when change comes, and you realise what you had was all you could ask for, sorrow is quick to consume all, and regret is stark and bitter as the worst poison. His long years couldn’t even help him with the pain, and so he’s always to remain a fool; there was no sort of rest for a weary soul like his.

What he thought was just a reminder of his adventures was now to ruin the lives of the one’s he loved the most... His dearest children. A burden so great a moot had to be called, one that he was not allowed to participate, but could know all about it, thanks to Lord Elrond.

The elf was always so empathic to him, but not even the elves could soothe his aching heart, for knowing of what he had brought upon Bella and Frodo was his greatest anguish. Was it too much for someone his age? Probably so. Bilbo could’ve never imaged his long years unscathed were because of that ring, too. All eventually came back to that trinket — that accursed little thing that has caused so much fear within him, as he could see clearly it’s jealous love was of the same nature as of the rock that plagued Thorin, long ago.

That ring was to be destroyed. And to be so; Frodo needed to travel to... Mordor. When Lord Elrond told him him of the news, his knees couldn’t handle it. He had to be helped by the very elf, for no strength was left in his body, only sorrow and fear.

He was a horrible, terrible parent. He’d fail Thorin, now Frodo and Bella. How could he? Why couldn’t he had done anything?

“Papa...” Bella’s voice called him back to reality, and in front of him, Bella and Frodo stood, looking weary as himself. The moot was over.

“Oh, dearests,” Bilbo choked on a sob, and went to hug his children. His body felt frail, worn as if there were no more strength holding it together. Bella cradled him while Frodo buried his face in his shoulders.

“You know?” Bella’s voice quaked.

“Lord Elrond told me everything,” Bilbo wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, sorrow heavy in his tone, “Oh, darlings... This shouldn’t — It’s all my fault, goodness, that blasted ring! Now I’m sending my two children to Mordor, of all the places!”

A sob is all he could let out after mentioning the dreaded place, making his children hug him once more. It wasn’t fair, not for them, not for him. No hobbit was made for Mordor. Not even the men, dwarves and elves.

“We are not going alone, pa,” Frodo told him, though his words were unsteady as his siblings, “We have the fellowship. I have Sam too, he’d never leave me.”

“I’d rather die than leave my brother, too,” Bella added, “This might be an adventure no one was hoping for, but it is one nonetheless. One to save what we love.”

One to save Middle-Earth. This burden, heavier beyond words, placed upon none other than his children. It hurt to even think of it.

“Still,” The elder hobbit sighed, “This was supposed to be my burden, and no parent wants to see their failure being pushed to their children.”

“This is no ones fault, Bilbo,” Frodo pressed on, empathy never leaving his words, “But we have to face this burden, be it yours or mine or Bella’s. We will face it the same way you faced a dragon by yourself, and survived through your adventures. We’ll face it as the Baggins we are.”

Speechless, Bilbo mumbled another apology, and cradled his children close to him. Bella, the tallest, wrapped their arm around the other two, and together, they cried. 

“My dearest Belladonna and Frodo, what would I be without you two... I’m so, so sorry for this burden,” The eldest hobbit said, giving each of his children a kiss on the temple.

If he cannot change this dreadful fate, he could at least lend as much help as possible. Something, anything, to ease his terribly aching heart. Letting his children go to war... He’d never forgive himself.

“Here, sweetlings, I’ve got to at least be of aid, if I cannot carry this burden myself,” Gently, Bilbo walked to the chest near the bed, bringing two very special items to Bella and Frodo’s sight. It was the least he could do.

He unsheathed Sting, briefly admiring its shine, and handed it to Bella, who he knew would readily take arms to Frodo’s protection.

“This is Sting, who will aid you in protecting your brother, as it glows blue when orcs and goblins are nearby,” He placed it on Bella’s larger, rougher hands, “It was made by the elves, you see. And it will help you in the way it helped me once.”

Bella nodded, branding the small sword and admiring its shape. They looked so regal, with a natural way with the sword.

Just like their father.

“For you, my dear Frodo, I give you...” The image of Thorin gifting him the mail flashed in his eyes, and later, knowing the meaning of such gift brought Bilbo close to tears. It was a gift so special, and so important for the dwarves, and he was the one who got it, because Thorin wanted him to be at upmost safe, and only the mithril mail itself could ease his worries.

A gift worth more than he could understand, and Thorin, in the height of the gold-sickness, did not even budge in giving him something so valuable.

“So you can always be safe from any harm,” He told him, though his eyes were lost in the fog of his mind.

“This is mithril,” Bilbo’s voice caught him back, and he faced towards Frodo, “Light as a feather, and harder than dragon scales.”

“The royal gift from the king,” Frodo whispered, his eyes shining at the mail.

He wanted to have a say in that — Tell Frodo it was more than a regal gift, it was Thorin’s. Having Bella looking at him, seeing the same mail their father once held... Hiding the truth felt beyond dirty. Perhaps he could write a letter afterwards, and explain what needed to be said. It wasn’t right to hide Thorin from Bella any longer.

“A... very special gift,” Bilbo agreed, gently touching the fabric, “It will protect you now, dear Frodo, as it once did me.”

“Now, I wish I could give more than things from my journey to protect you two,” The elder hobbit sighed, “But I’m afraid I’ll only be of use like this. Oh, my darlings...”

“You’ll be always with us, papa,” Belladonna spoke up, placing a hand on his shoulder, “No matter the journey, you’ll be with us, in our heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m changing the number of chapters from 15 to ? Cause I am taking a while to finish this, oof!


End file.
